


Give It A Shot

by Bejest



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, His name is Richard, More tags as I go, POV Alternating
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-05-22
Packaged: 2019-10-26 03:50:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17738468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bejest/pseuds/Bejest
Summary: Connor is the DPD's Second Lieutenant, resident workaholic, dog person, and not particularly enthusiastic about his assigned investigation on homicidal androids. Hank is an early model who's reactivated to track down deviants for deactivation and study. When the two are partnered up they discover more than they were asking for about androids, deviants, and what it really means to live.





	1. Chapter 1

He had seen movies, growing up, about artificial intelligence gaining a sense of self. Robot revolutions and helpful humans and the looming threat of extinction, he got the whole gist of it. 

But they were just movies.

Sure, they had their key points and brought certain potential factors of artificial life to attention, but technology was also well in development. Automated devices for anything from alarms to grocery lists to music, vehicles that could assess nearby surroundings with autopilot features, simulators that let people venture into nearly anything they could imagine, from video games to virtual offices and databanks, and, of course, androids with all the features of humans and all the knowledge of the internet at their fingertips, and then some.

For many, it almost felt evident that, given time, these everyday appliances could realize that they could be more.

That they could be alive.

Which was precisely why Connor, at the ripe age of 26, three years fresh out of the academy and steadily climbing the hierarchy of the local police force, was feeling much, much older than he was as he unenthusiastically scrolled down a list of partially unsolved case files, each regarding one homicidal android or another. Because of course if androids are going to deviate it’s going to become a problem with the police. Naturally.

“I’m sorry to do this to you Connor, but I felt you were the best choice to cover these cases,” Captain Fowler told him when he handed him his tablet. As he always does when he gives Connor a case. Even when it’s unnecessary. Appreciated, but unnecessary.

Connor doesn’t bother to hold off his sigh. “Got it. Leave it to me, sir.”

“Good to hear. For now, they’re all under control, but these incidents have been happening more often. I’ll give you the call the second another case comes in, but for the time being I expect you to get yourself home and get some sleep. Richard can take care of anything else that comes up tonight. I don’t need you falling down on the job,” Fowler had told him, stern as always, leaving Connor to wallow over his new responsibility.

The conversation had taken place over half an hour ago, and Connor had completely forgotten about going home. Instead he had sunk impossibly further into his chair, reading over the details for each case.

The first two were dated back four years ago, both regarding two different androids from two different places going missing. One didn’t seem to have any particularly interesting bits; a family came home to find that their android was simply gone. Officers found no signs of violence or a break-in, and nothing was stolen. The other had video footage of an android appearing to witness an incident regarding another android and fleeing the greenhouse it worked in. 

Neither had been found and both had mostly been forgotten, if the lack of him ever hearing about it said anything. Neither gave him much information.

The third and first important case regarded an actual attack, but the android had been subdued and decommissioned before it could fatally harm anyone.

The next few--and there really only were a few--regarded similar situations, the androids in question either be declared missing or detained and deactivated. They seemed to each have something that causes them to behave out of the ordinary, but with so few incidents and so little to go on, there was only so much he could put together. As it stood, it looked like he would have to wait for another incident to occur.

Which sounded extremely unpleasant and like something he’d much rather prevent than wait for, but…

“You’re still here?” A voice as familiar as his own inquired from somewhere behind him. He straightened up and turned his chair, looking up at the DPD’s first lieutenant, Richard.

Who was also his brother.

Who looked much, _much_ more rested than he currently felt, as well as showered and, if the cup of steaming hot coffee in one hand and half-eaten biscuit in the other was really there, fed.

“I do work here, yes,” Connor answered, already turning his chair back to pretend that no, he was not there. 

Unfortunately, Richard was too good a brother, because in the next second his chair was abruptly shoved. And then the next second. And the second after that.

Connor grabbed the armrests and pulled himself upright, twisting his neck around to glare at his brother. “Are you serio-- _stop_ \--I’ll leave just--Richard--” He grabbed the edge of his desk and jerked up out of his chair, turning around just in time for Richard to kick his chair into his knees; Connor was very thankful for the excessive padding. “Kicking my chair? What is this, pre-school?”

“It’s not kicking if I’m using my knee.” He had the nerve to look cheeky under his perfectly gelled back hair, looking every bit the punk he was. Just in a uniform.

“What difference does it make?” Connor chided, but he knew it lacked any real heat. Though he could be annoying, he did care, and Connor always appreciated it.

Shaking his head, he turned away to turn off his computer, grabbing his bag from under his desk and slinging it over his shoulder, sliding the tablet in with practiced ease. When he turned back around to put his chair back, Richard had already relocated himself to his own desk across from Connor’s. He returned Connor’s wave with a smile and a _“Don’t forget to sleep this time”_ before pulling up his own files, and then out Connor went, waving to the secretary android as he passed on his way out of the DPD. 

Connor had never owned an android, though he interacted with them daily. He couldn’t not since they were such a regular part of society now. None he had ever seen had posed any kind of treat or been any kind of problem.

Maybe that’s how everyone felt about the ones in the case files too.

Homicidal androids had been a thought, an unlikely potential, but reading through those files had brought all of those old movies he grew up on to mind and he had to wonder what he would be able to do. What are you supposed to do? What is the story supposed to be?

_What do you do when fiction becomes reality?_

Questions for another day, he ultimately decided, because he was tired and had a dog to feed and a blog to check up on and not enough evidence to be sure of much just yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I started writing this a good while back, and then found I didn't really like it but I wasn't up to writing it again so I forgot about it for several months, and then I found it again and decided to give it another shot??  
> Sounds like me.  
> Thank you guys for reading, updates are probably gonna be super slow but I'll try my best to finish it this time!!


	2. Chapter 2

The PL600, dubbed Daniel by its owners, was meant to be a domestic home assistant. It _was _a domestic home assistant, and, according to Emma Philips, ‘the coolest android in the world.’ As of one hour and twelve minutes ago, it was also a deviant.__

____

A homicidal deviant, if the bodies of John Philips and the two officers shot and killed half an hour ago was evidence enough.

__

It was truly unfortunate; even more so when he learned why the android had deviated. John Philips had purchased a replacement, a model with all the same capabilities as the PL600, only superior in its recent manufacture date.

__

Hank couldn’t see any real benefits. If the current android was lacking in some manner, they could have simply initiated an upgrade, even though the PL600 had already been made to be everything anyone could want in a home assistant. It could take care of children and finances efficiently, maintain a clean and orderly environment, tutor every subject requested of it--honestly, it was designed to be everything a person could want or need.

__

Perhaps they intended to replace it out of concern for how attached Emma Philips appeared to have grown to Daniel, but…

__

Whatever the case, it didn’t warrant murder.

__

He put the tablet back where it had been thrown, turning to glance over John Philips briefly--three bullets, all in the abdomen--before deciding that he had collected enough evidence here.

__

The kitchen provided little more information. The first responder who was killed had taken a bullet to the chest after trying to stop Daniel when he took Emma hostage. She had likely witnessed the shooting.

__

He hoped she hadn’t seen her father, that Daniel had at least spared her that. Emma Philips didn’t deserve this.

__

The first responder was unarmed, he notices. An officer wouldn’t be unarmed arriving at a homicide scene with an armed individual, so surely--yes, there, under the table, he spotted the gun.

__

Kneeling down, he reached for it, just as a gunshot, two gunshots, pierced the air.

__

_“Officer Wilson is down! I repeat, Officer Wilson is down!”_ one of the officers holding position at the terrace doors shouted. Hank cursed and grabbed the gun, shoving it into his waistband and concealing it with his jacket. He had enough information to understand the situation, and hopefully more than enough to reason with the deviant. Probability of success was a confident eighty-three percent.

__

“I’m going out, stay back,” he told the officer as he stepped past, over broken glass and whipping curtains and finally, there.

__

The deviant.

__

The very, _very_ stressed deviant, a gun in one hand and the young Emma Philips in the other.

__

Before he even had time to call out, another shot rang out, his shoulder jerking back with the force of a bullet tearing through his shoulder. Immediately, his retina blinked a diagnosis--no vital components damaged. A warning shot.

__

“Daniel!” he called out, his tone reprimanding. For a second, Daniel appeared taken aback but kept the gun level with Hank’s head.

__

“Stay back! Come any closer and I’ll shoot!”

__

Hank ignored the urge to retort a grudging _'you already did'_ and raised his hands placatingly. Despite the command not to, he took a step forward, gauging the tension that made Daniel go rigid at the movement, but he didn’t pull the trigger again. 

__

The Philps’ were wealthy, and it showed in how large the balcony was. They could have hosted large pool parties or basked in the sunlight while Emma swam in the pool. Plenty of space to have fun with friends and family. It also put a lot of distance between Hank, just outside the glass doors, and Daniel, standing right at the edge on the opposite end. He’d have to take it slow.

__

“You alright there, Emma?” he asked, directing his attention to the hostage. She didn’t say anything back but started crying harder. Physically, there was no damage; not even bruising where Daniel was holding her arm. Even after deviating, killing her father and possibly completely ruining her life, he was still her caretaker. Emotionally, he had failed her, and he seemed to know that. Underneath the gun and fear and body count, he knew this was probably the end for him.

__

With his state-of-the-art programming, there’s no way he hadn’t come to that conclusion.

__

He should have run away.

__

“You’re in a rough spot kid! It’s not looking too good where you’re standing,” he called out, deciding to play on his appearance. And manufacture date. “I’d like to help you get out of this, but you’re making it pretty hard to do!”

__

“No, you’re… You’re here to shut me down! You’re going to take me back, and -- I won’t let you!” In the blink of an eye, Daniel had knelt and wrapped an arm around Emma, hefting her up and earning a startled shriek, turning to gun from Hank to her and stepping back so his heels were right over the edge of the balcony, so far above the city streets that, if it weren’t for the roar of the helicopter spotlighting the scene, the bustling traffic would only be a distant hum.

__

“Woah Woah hey! No! I’m here to negotiate!” Hank halted where he had been creeping forward. “There have been enough deaths for one night, Daniel. I want to put a stop to it, and if that means helping you get out of here I will, alright? See?” He punctuated it by waving at the helicopter, signaling for them to back off. They turned around and flew away from the scene immediately.

__

Daniel’s stress levels dropped a thankful twenty percent. Not great but better. Hank started creeping forward again, edging around a toppled chair.  
“They were going to replace you, right? That’s why you’re upset, isn’t it?”

__

“I loved them! I thought I was… a part of the family. But I was just some toy to them, just to be thrown away when they were done with me!” Despite the raw betrayal in his voice, his arm tightened around Emma in some distant semblance of a hug when she immediately protested the statement, telling him it wasn’t true.

__

“I know, Daniel, and that wasn’t fair to you. But _this?_ ” He gestured with a sweeping arm over the balcony, the glass, the gun, and Officer Wilson who had--no, was _still_ bleeding out. He had gotten close enough that in a few more steps he could stop the bleeding. “This isn’t fair to Emma, Daniel. You two were very close, right? She wouldn’t want to hurt you, and you don’t want to hurt her.”

__

“She lied to me! I thought she loved me but she doesn’t! She just like all the other humans!” he snarled, then aimed the gun back at Hank when he started kneeling beside the downed officer and fired a shot near his leg. Hank froze. _“Don’t touch him!”_

__

“I’m just going to stop the bleeding,” Hank assured him, untying his tie slowly and pulling it from his collar, letting Daniel observe every little movement. “We don’t want any more bodies, Daniel.”

__

Slowly, he tied the tie around Officer Wilson’s arm above the wound. Slowly, Daniel’s stress level dropped down to a more comfortable fifty-five percent.

__

When he had secured the makeshift tourniquet, he stood back up and backed away, raising his hands again and standing still long enough for Daniel to analyze the officer’s stabilizing blood flow.

__

Fifty percent.

__

“Do you have a gun?” Daniel inquired after a moment, training the gun back on Emma.

__

“Yes,” Hank answered, cautiously reaching back and pulling it from his waistband. Holding it up, fingers away from the trigger, he clicked the safety on and tossed it to the side.

__

Forty-seven percent.

__

“What can we do, Daniel? How do we get out of this alive?” Only half of the patio remained between them. He took a couple of steps forward.

__

Daniel pressed his lips together, the synthetic skin turning white under the pressure. His eyes flitted from Hank to the gun, to Emma, to the snipers positioned on the roof and on neighboring buildings, and back to Hank.

__

“I… I want everyone to leave! And I want a car. When I’m outside of the city I’ll let her go,” he decided, gesturing loosely to Emma. She almost looked like she agreed with the plan.

__

Hank shook his head. “I’m afraid no one will be going anywhere until you let her go, Daniel. She’s what everyone’s here for.”

__

A slow, reluctant drop to forty percent.

__

“I need you to trust me, Daniel. Let her go, and I promise you won’t be hurt.” He had crossed a quarter of the distance.

__

Daniel leveled him with a pleading look that made him want to look away. He didn’t.

__

“I don’t want to die…”

__

“You’re not going to die, Daniel. We’re just going to talk.”

__

Slowly, he turned his hands over. An offering instead a plead. He wouldn’t need to get any closer. Daniel’s stress levels had dropped to thirty-five percent. Probability of success had reached one-hundred.

__

“You have my word, Daniel.”

__

Daniel stared at him, his mouth moving slowly but nothing coming out. A long, tense moment passed, before, finally, he lowered the gun.

__

“I trust you,” he said, and, without breaking eye contact, set Emma on her feet.

__

Dropping to one knee, Hank beckoned for her to come to him, hugging her carefully when she ran into his arms. “It’ll be alright,” he told her, then looked back up to Daniel, watching a sadness androids weren’t capable of feeling pass through his eyes.

__

“I’m sorry,” Daniel told him, dropping the gun. It toppled off the edge and down to the street below. Hank didn’t watch it go.

__

“I know, son.” He put a hand on Emma’s head, both as a comfort and to keep her from turning around. She started crying again.

__

“So am I.”

__

The bullets from the sniper’s guns were silent, but the crack of plastic when they tore through Daniel was not.

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't very happy with this chapter, and rewrote it several times and abandoned this fic for the better part of a year because of it, but I think I finally got it close enough to what I wanted??  
> Anywho, almost a year later and I've finally introduced Hank!


End file.
